Page 87 of Attached At Heart
A question I’d love to know the answer to myself.
“Do you want it to be a date?” I countered and begged her to say yes with my eyes.
Her gaze wandered the table for two, lit by candlelight, before it strayed to the rest of the small restaurant, from the waitstaff dressed in black and white to the wall stacked with hundreds of bottles of wine to the gentle, romantic music playing overhead, weaving through the soft murmuring of other diners.
“It feels like a date,” she answered finally.
That wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, but I could make it work.
“Is that good or bad, Lane?” I leaned forward, meeting her gaze and noting how dilated her pupils were. “That this feels like a date.”
“Good, I think.” She licked her lips, and my eyes dropped to her mouth because my self-control was bleeding out. “I’m feeling really good right now,” she added, more confident. Then, her eyes skimmed over to the glass of wine in her hand. “But that might just be the wine talking.”
I waited until her eyes landed back on me to lower my voice and reply, “I don’t think it’s the wine.”
“No.” She swallowed, and I watched the way her throat worked, wondering which parts of her neck were sensitive. I wanted to find all of the places on her body that made her tick, that made her gasp and groan.Fuck. “I don’t think it’s the wine,” Delaney agreed breathlessly.
The fact that she felt it, too, that she recognized whatever was happening between us, that she was just as lost to the pull between us—it was doing me in.
“What else do you want to do tonight?” I asked, taking a slow sip of my own wine and watching her over the rim of the glass. “I want you to keep feeling…good.”
I wanted her to letmemake her feel good, too.
“Hmm, dancing.” She gave me a reserved smile that did things to my insides. “Dancing would make me feel good. It’s been so long. I never dance anymore, but I think tonight feels different.”
It sure did.
“I’m not sure if there’s any ballet studios we can simply barge into around here, but I can see what I can find.”
If I had to beg a dance studio to let us in for the night, I would.
“You know, Iwastrained in other types of dance besides ballet. Becoming a ballerina was just the only acceptable option for my parents.”
A tight laugh left my lips, mostly because imagining Delaney dancing in any way or capacity made my cock twitch in my pants. “Okay, so what kind of dancing do you want to do tonight?”
“All I want is to move my body to a beat.” She tilted her head to the side, watching me closely. “Would you dance with me, Blake?”
My breathing faltered.Oh fuck me, this woman.
“You know I would, Delaney,” I answered, holding her gaze. The look in her eyes was electrified, like the thick feeling of the air before lightning struck. Tonight felt like that, like the moments ahead of a perfect storm. When all the conditions were right for something either terrible or exciting to happen, and you just weren’t sure which it was going to be.
Delaney’s throat bobbed, and I watched her gradually become more unsteady before she took a quick exit off the road we were on. I already knew her next words were about to be dismissive, braced myself for them.
“You’re a great guy, Blake,” she commented, sucking in a breath. “Your future wife is going to be very lucky to have you.”
Oh, fuck that.
“Are youtryingto piss me off?”
“What?”
But she wasn’t looking at me when she said it, and I suspected we both knew why.
“How was your meal this evening?” Our waiter interrupted before I got a chance to tell Delaney that the only wife I planned on having was the one sitting in front of me. And that everything I did that made her think I was a great guy was because my world fucking revolved around her.
It was probably for the best that we got interrupted.
“It was amazing,” Delaney answered because I was still too busy clenching and unclenching my jaw. “Thank you.”
